Hail the Conqueror
by Ariyah
Summary: The most important holiday in Narnia has come around again, and this year, Caspian is allowed a role in the festivities. As the young prince joins in celebrating the three hundred-year-old legacy of Caspian the First, Nurse tells him the story of another great feast from a long, long time ago. Pre-PC. By Ariel of Narnia.
1. A Proud History

**Disclaimer** : If you recognize it, it's not mine. And there's stuff in there that still isn't mine, even if you don't recognize it. In summation, I'm not very original.

 **Thank you to** :WillowDryad and Kristi for having read over at least a quarter of this fic, for being honest about their opinions, and for assuring me that I didn't have to worry so much over a story that wasn't in the horrible shape I thought it was.

 **Also thank you to** : meldahlie for unknowingly (and possibly unintentionally?) inspiring this work. (If you're reading this, mel, surprise! Haha. I'll explain later. ;) )

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The castle had been all in a hustle and a bustle for a week. Flowers of every colour were everywhere, every bit of precious metal was polished to a lustrous gleam, the halls echoed with constant chatter and commands, maids and man-servants scurried this way and that, and even the lords and ladies exerted themselves with breathless excitement. Of greater importance was that Caspian, young as he was, was no longer just an observer. He managed to carry himself with dignity all the way from supper with Uncle Miraz and Aunt Prunaprismia, but the moment his chambers were in sight, he raced down the hall and burst into the room.

"Nurse, Nurse! I get to toast at the feast and I may have wine – Uncle said! – and I'm to practice with you!" A maid bearing a tray with the aforementioned wine followed him in, while Caspian set a wee scroll on Nurse's lap. "Uncle said Master Poet wrote it special for me and it's an honour to – I don't 'member, something about her'tage –, so I'm going to say it on Third Day!"

Nurse laughed. "Slow down, your highness! Let me see what you have there. Now what's this about? – Over there is fine, thank you." The maid obediently set the tray on a side table and excused herself.

Caspian repeated himself, but as he did, he noticed that Nurse wasn't really paying attention to him: the more she read from the scroll, the more her smile faded. "Nurse?"

She worked her lips as though she was on the verge of saying something, but then she caught her words in her throat and swallowed them back. "The feast begins tomorrow," she finally said. "We don't have much time to prepare."

"I can do it!" Caspian puffed out his chest. He pulled her hands down so he could see the contents of the scroll. "See? It's not very long. I can mem'rize it!"

"Then we had better start. Just let me move my knitting – there we are. Now, we'll read it through a couple times."

Caspian settled into Nurse's lap and listened. Nurse had taught him his letters and he could read a little, but some words – most of them, if he was honest with himself – looked rather intimidating. He was glad she was there to read them aloud for him.

 _Attend ye, men of Telmar,  
on this our day of victory;  
hear ye, old and young,  
forget not our proud history.  
Three hundred years,  
we stand tall and strong;  
Three hundred years,  
his legacy lives on.  
War he waged, battles he raged:  
our great and fearless warrior;  
Nations he razed, Telmar he saved:  
hail Caspian Conqueror!_

Nurse read through the first four lines several times until Caspian was able to say it along with her, then by himself.

"Very good, Caspian. That's enough for tonight, I think," she said. She rolled up the little scroll and set it by her knitting. "We'll finish tomorrow when we're fresh for a new day."

"Uncle said I need to have some wine so I will be ready for it on Third Day." Caspian reined in his anticipation as best as he knew how, to prove to Nurse that he was indeed big enough to have some.

Nurse smiled. "Well, if you will get off my lap, I can pour you some." Caspian scooted off double-quick and watched as Nurse crossed the room to the flagon's resting place. "Just a sip to start," she warned.

Caspian stared at the rich redness that swirled in the golden goblet and he decided it was pretty. He took a sip and promptly made a face, but when he noticed Nurse's eyes crinkling in silent laughter, he made a valiant effort to check his reaction. Uncle Miraz had said that no toast was royal or festive without wine, and that a prince should of course be both, so Caspian finished off what remained in the goblet before accepting the water Nurse had readied for him.

"Come on, into your nightshirt. I have the perfect story for you tonight."

"What is it?" Caspian immediately began to unbutton his vest.

Nurse tickled him, sending him squealing with laughter into his bedchamber. "I'll tell you when you're ready for bed!"

Though he really was in a hurry to hear Nurse's promised story, Caspian chattered the whole time. "I like the Feast of Caspian. Last year, there was lots of dancing and music. And mountains and mountains of food! Master Poet said this really long poem on First Day, but I liked watching the play behind him. And a big sword-fight _at the feast_ on Third Day! I'm e'cited I get to do something this year! Aunt Prun'ismia doesn't think I'm big enough, but Uncle Miraz says I am."

Nurse helped him find the end of his sleeves and pulled the nightshirt down over his head. "If you don't settle down, little highness," she scolded him playfully, "you will never get to sleep. Into bed with you." Caspian grinned and wriggled under the covers, leaving room for Nurse to sit on the edge of the bed. "Now. This story is about another feast, one from a long time ago, when Narnia was filled with Talking Beasts and Dryads and Fauns and Centaurs, when two kings and two queens reigned. Do you remember them?"

"Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy!" Caspian responded, his eyes gleaming.

"That's right. This story happens exactly one year after their coronation and there was to be a feast at their castle of Cair Paravel, sort of like Day of the Crown."

Caspian thought about the one day a year dedicated specially to Uncle Miraz. A "modest celebration", Uncle Miraz had called it, but it seemed to Caspian that the two words ought never be put together, for the only celebration was the parade and the "modest" remainder was dull speeches, long-winded toasts "to your majesties' good health", and a banquet lacking in plays or sword-fights. With this in mind, Caspian asked, "Was their Day of the Crown the same?"

"Oh, no. This was a grand affair, more like the Feast of Caspian."

Relieved of his fear that this feast would be as boring as Uncle Miraz', Caspian's interest returned in full force. "They must have been great kings and queens!"

Nurse smiled. "They were, but their greatness was yet to come. Great monarchs are not made in a year: it takes time and effort and the grace of Aslan. However, some Narnians forgot that. They wanted a four-day feast: one day for each of the kings and queens, much like we do for your uncle, so they could celebrate and honour them for ending the White Witch's reign and bringing happiness to Narnia."

"Nurse, you're getting the story wrong! _Aslan_ beat the Witch and made it Spring."

"You have a good memory!" Nurse praised. "Most everyone did too, but there those who didn't. You see, they were very proud of their kings and queens, but when people become too proud, they forget about Aslan." Nurse paused to think. "It would be as though your uncle gave you a gift, but then you got so used to having it that you forgot where it came from. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"The two kings and the two queens were, at first, delighted by the idea of a four-day feast – Narnians loved a good, long celebration –, but when ideas of celebrating one monarch on each day crept into the plans, the kings and queens took council together. None of them liked the idea of making themselves the center of attention on the occasion, for they wanted a feast of remembrance for all of Narnia. High King Peter and Queen Susan thought the feast should be made shorter, but it was King Edmund and Queen Lucy who found the happy solution: each night, one of the kings or queens would make a toast to remind Narnia of what they were really celebrating."

"Just like me! I'm going to toast at the feast!"

"Yes, just like you. Queen Lucy wasn't even much older than you are – perhaps by three or four years."

Caspian beamed at the thought of being nearly equal with these legendary kings and queens.

"So the kings and queens agreed and the feast proceeded as planned: food and wine aplenty, happy conversation and laughter everywhere you looked. The mermaids sang, the Dwarves played along, and the Fauns and Dryads danced. Then Queen Lucy stood at her throne, silver goblet in hand, and the great hall quieted to hear her speak."

Nurse was no longer looking at Caspian. Her eyes took on a dreamy appearance, as though fixed on a vision of the scene she related through her words. Caspian waited for the toast of the ancient queen.

"'Dear friends,' she said, 'we thank you for joining us in this feast. We are thankful for so much and we wanted to celebrate it with you all. It seems as though it's been more than a year since, by some magic, Aslan brought us – my brothers and sister and me – to Narnia. We who were strangers, He chose to bring here and crown kings and queens of His fair land; just as He chose Narnia to be the nation on which He would bestow His greatest blessings. A toast: to the Highest Lord of Narnia. To Aslan!'"

"To Aslan!" Caspian responded with a punch of his fist into the air as though raising a goblet.

"Shh," said Nurse through a smile of a repressed chuckle. "You'll wake the castle doing that. It's time little princes went to sleep."

"But what about the rest of the story?"

Nurse tapped his nose gently. "We will finish it another time. We want you to be ready for the Feast of Caspian, don't we?" Caspian nodded. "Then you need all the rest you can get."

Caspian turned onto his side and Nurse tucked him in. "Good night, Nurse."

"Good night, your highness."

She dimmed the lamp and left it with him for company before shuffling out to the antechamber. Through the partly-open door, Caspian watched her move back and forth as she tidied up a few things. She grasped the handles of the wine tray, but did not pick it up. She turned to look at him and Caspian quickly shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. After a moment, he heard a rustling in the antechamber and only then did he dare to crack his eyelids open. Nurse held the goblet halfway to her lips, which moved with a soft murmuring. Try as he might, Caspian could not hear what she said. Nurse lifted the goblet, as though to salute the moon that shone through the window. This time, Caspian heard her whisper, "To the Highest Lord of Narnia". Then Nurse downed the wine she had poured and then stood still a moment longer. Caspian furrowed his brow. Why would Nurse drink to the ancient toast? For that matter, why did she drink at all? He'd never seen her drink any wine, even when it was nearby. Was that why she had looked at him, to make sure he wasn't watching?

Caspian interrupted his questions to close his eyes again when Nurse shook herself back into movement. There was more rustling as she picked up the tray and her knitting and then left the chamber, closing the door behind her with a soft thump.

By that time, Caspian's perplexed thoughts faded away into a dream of fantastic creatures and young royals giving speeches.

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	2. Tall and Strong

**Author's note** : The fleeting mention of WillowDryad's character Bast is used with her kind permission

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"Well, my boy, what progress have you made on your toast?"

First Day festivities were not to begin until noon, so Uncle Miraz had seen no reason to forego his habit of walking on the ramparts with Caspian after breakfast. Caspian rather wished he could be back in his chambers listening to Nurse continue last night's story, but, of course, he would not say so to his uncle. He set aside all thoughts of the story and answered, "Near half, Uncle. Nurse helped me."

Uncle Miraz stopped and turned to face Caspian, his hands clasped behind his back. "Let's hear it then."

Caspian adopted his uncle's stance and began to recite,

"Attend ye, men of Telmar,  
on this our day of… of victory."

Caspian's eyes roved over his surroundings as though he hoped to find the rest of the words written somewhere. He could sense Uncle Miraz' eyes upon him, but before the gaze could discomfort him much, the rest of the words flooded back and he finished with quick confidence,

"Hear ye, old and young,  
forget not our proud history!"

Uncle Miraz neither smiled his approval nor scowled a reproof; he simply nodded and strode on. Caspian trotted to catch up, wishing his recitation had gone better and hoping his uncle wouldn't say anything of it. As they neared the end of their walk, Uncle Miraz stopped again. "The Feast of Caspian is important to us – especially to you, prince of Narnia. It is your history and responsibility. You see that down there?" Uncle Miraz pointed to something before he realized that Caspian could not see over the wall, so he picked him up and pointed again. "Look at that, Caspian. Remember it. All of this is because one man rose up to lead his people into glory and prosperity."

The courtyard below was alive with servants unfurling banners and raising the last of the tiered benches that transformed the courtyard into a theatre. Weaving their way between the servants were a few members of the theatre troupe, dressed in extravagant costumes. Outside, on the other side of the drawbridge, vendors had set up their booths of savoury foods, sweet treats, and festival wares. Beyond that, from the town, Caspian could hear a chorus of chatter and laughter and – he thought – a strain of music. Farther away were sloping hills green with grass, fields of young grain, and the borders of the forest.

"Years and years ago, our people came to this land poor and driven by famine. Look at them now: a great people, strong and proud."

Caspian looked up at his uncle. Even with the added height of being held, Uncle Miraz was still taller than himself. In that moment, Caspian thought he seemed taller yet, as though he represented all the people he spoke of. Even the sunlight seemed to give Uncle Miraz a majestic glow, crowning him like a hero in a story – maybe even like the ancient Conqueror himself.

"Great men deserve great honour and Caspian I is the greatest of them all. And you, being named for our forefather, bear an even greater task of esteeming him." Uncle Miraz' voice took on his normal, gruffer tone as he set Caspian down. "Your toast _must_ be ready for the banquet on Third Day."

Caspian nodded, both relieved and ashamed to have received acknowledgement of his recitation. "I'll do better, Uncle."

"See that you do. Now, we must make ourselves ready; we have only a few short hours. I'll send for you when we are to begin." His hand lightly pushed Caspian toward the guard that would escort Caspian back to his chambers.

. * .

Nurse was fussing over his sash and ceremonial brooch, and Caspian had to fight the urge to fidget. Reciting was so much easier when he could move around.

"Three hundred years,  
we… um."

"We stand," Nurse prompted without removing her eyes from the brooch.

"We stand tall and strong;  
Three hundred years,  
his leg'cy lives on."

"It's pronounced 'leg- _a_ -cy'," Nurse corrected him.

"Leg- _a_ -cy. His leg- _a_ -cy lives on."

She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, smiling her approval of both his progress and wardrobe. Caspian seized the opportunity to flap his arms up and down a couple times, free to fidget as he liked. This made Nurse chuckle. "Alright, now, let's try that again."

Caspian took to rotating his upper body, swinging his arms out as he did so. The words flowed out from his memory much easier and he made sure to pronounce "legacy" properly. The poem was not what interested him in that moment, however, so the moment he finished, Caspian rushed to ask, "Will you tell me the rest of the story now? Please?"

"No, we need to practice both parts together now."

"After that?"

"No." Nurse looked out the window. "The king will send for you soon." Caspian's lips started to turn down in a disappointed pout. "Now, now, none of that, your highness. The Feast of Caspian is about to start and you –" she took his hands into hers "– have an important part in it. Aren't you still excited about that?" Caspian felt the smile that took over. "Then let's make sure you are ready for it." She released his hands and waited patiently.

Caspian clasped his hands behind his back, just as he had with Uncle Miraz earlier, but he rocked back and forth on his feet.

"Attend ye, men of Telmar,  
on this our day of victory;  
hear ye, old and young,  
forget not our proud history.  
Three hundred years,  
we stand tall and strong;  
Three hundred years,  
his legacy lives on."

Surprise at his success registered and he felt something swell in his chest, something that felt exciting and very, very good. Nurse beamed with praise and Caspian's immediate instinct was to hug her. Laughing, she caught him in her arms.

"Well done, your highness: both parts together and no mistakes! I'm very proud of you."

Caspian's elation was overtaken by a sudden thought and he pulled back so he could look at Nurse. "Is that what I feel? Proud?" He rubbed a hand on his chest to indicate where it tingled.

"That's right. That's what you feel when you're happy about a job well done." She rubbed her hand over his chest too, as if to validate it.

Caspian grinned and wriggled out some of the energy. "It feels good."

"Yes, it does – oh, your sash." She reached her hand out to fix it before Caspian had quite a chance to stand still for her.

"Now I know why everybody loves the Feast of Caspian. Uncle Miraz said Caspian I helped our people and now we're proud of him, so that makes everybody happy."

Nurse's busy fingers stopped. In fact, it looked like everything about her had come to a halt, though only for a moment, for she released her hold on his sash, straightened the brooch, and let her fingertips linger there. "Yes," she said quietly. "Very proud."

There was a knock at the door and Nurse rose to open it. One of Uncle Miraz' gentlemen-in-waiting gave a courteous nod to Nurse and a bow at the waist to Caspian. "If your highness is ready, I am to escort you to join their majesties for the beginning of the Feast."

Caspian straightened his shirt and joined his escort at the door. Nurse curtsied as he passed. "I will see you after the courtyard play, your highness."

Caspian beamed up at her, but noticed something wrong about the smile she gave in return: there was something there that was not pride or even ordinary happiness. However strange, he forgot about it while he followed his escort toward the excitement of the holiday and the opening notes of fanfare.

. * .

"I've never seen a play like that, have you, Nurse? I wonder if Caspian I looked like that. He looked like a great king. And all the cheering! Even Aunt Prun'ismia was clapping!" It was past his normal bedtime, but Caspian was still bubbling with excitement. "I didn't understand what he said in his speech, but it sounded grand. Will I make grand speeches when I'm king?"

"Please, your highness, stand still so I can undress you."

Caspian quit jumping on the bed, but he didn't quite stand still: he swung his arms up as high as he could reach. "Did you see the tall, tall man in the square? Do you think he has a tall house?"

Off came the brooch. "No, he lives in a normal house. He walks on stilts."

"What are stilts?"

Nurse carefully folded the sash and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "They're tall sticks with shoes at the top to make people look taller."

"Oh." A second later, he forgot all about the stilt-walker. "I want to learn how to eat fire! Then I could breathe it out like a dragon!" He roared as fiercely as he could and ran in a circle on his bed, arms stretched out like wings.

Nurse caught him by the hand and brought him to a halt. "Caspian, please stand still." When she said it this time, it was with a small smile. Caspian obeyed and Nurse began to untie the laces of his doublet. "Little princes make for much better kings than dragons. And they should never play with fire."

Her eyes were so serious that Caspian immediately promised he would not play with fire. Any further thoughts of dragons fled his mind in his eagerness to share all that he'd thought of First Day's festivities from the roasted chestnuts and the sword-dancers to the food at the feast and the ball currently in progress. "Why couldn't I stay up longer? I'm not even tired," he complained as Nurse finally pulled his nightshirt over his head.

"This will help you sleep," she said as she turned toward the wine tray on the side table.

"But I'm too e'cited to sleep!"

"Go on and drink that, and then I'll tell you what happens next in the story."

Caspian looked down at the wine and steeled himself to drink it down the way Uncle Miraz did. He tilted the goblet up, felt the liquid rush into his mouth – he surely would have spilled had Nurse not poured only a little –, and gulped it down. He scrunched his nose a little and wiped his lips but decided it didn't taste quite as bad as it had the night before. Regardless, he gratefully accepted the cup of water that followed.

"Alright, in you go," Nurse instructed while she pulled back the covers. Once he was snuggled in, she took her seat on the edge of the bed. "The second night of the great feast came and everyone had gathered again in the halls of Cair Paravel. Because she was quite fond of dancing, Queen Susan had arranged the night around a ball."

"They could stay up for a ball? Was it like the one downstairs?"

Nurse laid a hand on his and gave it a little shake. "When you're king, you may dance for as long as you like. And no, I don't suppose Old Narnian balls were very much like the ones here. They had different sorts of dances because Talking Beasts and Centaurs and such would not be able to dance the way we do, though they sometimes tried – they say High King Peter would dance with one of his Tiger guards!"

Caspian felt his eyes grow wide as he tried to imagine what dancing with a tiger would be like.

"Unlike the night before, the floor of the Great Hall was left clear except along the walls, where servants would keep the tables overflowing with food for anyone to eat whenever he felt hungry. On the steps of the dias sat those Narnians who sang and played music for the dancers. The flutes hummed low while the whistles sang high, the chimes rang clear and sweet, and the harps plucked along… all such lovely music as Narnia has not heard in a long, long time." Nurse's voice had softened and her expression turned pensive and wistful. Rousing herself, she continued. "The dancing had gone on for some time, but no one was tired yet when Queen Susan chose her moment to propose her toast – you see, she was a clever girl and knew that, halfway through the dancing, spirits would be high and that they would be higher yet after a toast."

Caspian nodded even though he really didn't understand what Nurse meant. He was beginning to feel warm and drowsy.

"She instructed servants to pass wine to all present and asked the musicians to pause their playing. Prepared for a toast, everyone turned to hear her. 'We stand here today to mark a wondrous year of freedom. Freedom from the White Witch, her cruelty, and her winter. We remember the darkness of those days and honour the memory of the ones we lost. Though I and my royal brothers and sister saw only a glimpse of that time, I remember….' Here, her lip trembled and everyone saw that she had turned to look at King Edmund. 'I remember nearly losing a brother and the fear that filled my heart. But when I met Aslan, He took all that away.'"

This time when Caspian nodded, it was with understanding: he knew exactly what part of the story the ancient queen spoke of.

"Queen Susan's memories worked so deeply on her that she shed a tear and spilled some of her wine, but she drew herself together to finish. 'I knew that Aslan could save not only my brother, but all of us, and so He did. Because of what He did, we are able to be here now, a free and happy people. Let us salute Aslan, the Liberator of Narnia!'"

Caspian could do no more than smile in response. From under his drooping eyelids, he saw Nurse get up and tuck him in with a whispered "good night". She removed the wine tray from his room, leaving the lamp behind and the door half-open as always. He might have fallen asleep right then and there, but curiosity held sleep at bay while he blearily observed Nurse. Just as she had the night before, she poured some wine and stood there a minute, saying something to herself. Caspian perked up further when, instead of drinking the wine, Nurse crossed the room and opened the window with a little creak. Caspian could not see her, but he thought he heard her say, "I'm trying to trust. Please... save us." Perhaps if Caspian was more alert, he would know what what that meant. He'd nearly fallen asleep before Nurse closed the window and returned to the table on which the wine tray sat. "I salute the Liberator of Narnia," she whispered before swallowing her wine. Based on the duration of the drink, Caspian thought there should have been more in the goblet, but he was too tired to be sure how much she had poured in the first place. It was all very strange – stranger indeed than it had the night before –, but before he could turn over any questions in his mind, Nurse had slipped out of his chambers and Caspian himself slipped into a deep sleep.

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	3. The Legacy Lives On

Breakfast was hardly over before Second Day began in earnest. Caspian took his place with Uncle Miraz and Aunt Prunaprismia in the royal box at the arena. A few privileged members of the court were admitted to the box as well; Nurse was not among them, having been seated on an ordinary bench not far away. Caspian waved at her and she waved back. In that moment, Caspian wondered – for the fiftieth time that morning – about her behaviour the last two nights, but even if he dared to ask her about it in such a crowd of people, he had no chance: the heralds trumpeted a fanfare and the entire arena erupted in a din of cheering and applauding. A number of armed men entered the ring to an increased applause.

When the people settled, Uncle Miraz called out in his clear voice. "Three hundred years ago, our forefathers struggled and fought for everything they had against warring tribes of plunderers and each other, against famine and plague, against nature itself and monsters nature never intended; but one man prevailed over all and it is he that we honour here today!" Caspian couldn't help but join in the roar that burst forth like waters breaking through a dam.

Again, Uncle Miraz had to wait till it passed before he could speak again; when he did, it was not to the crowd, but to the men in the ring. "Men of Telmar, you represent for us today all those who have battled before us. Compete in their memory and you may win the prize in the end." He swept his arm toward Aunt Prunaprismia, who stood and revealed what she held for all to see. Even Caspian, who lived surrounded by beautiful and costly things, drew a breath: in his aunt's grasp was a length of embroidered velvet, a sword sheathed in a gleaming scabbard, and a circlet of brass polished till it shone bright as gold and set with a single sapphire. A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd and sound of applause returned. "Each man will duel till first blood," Uncle Miraz announced before he lost his chance to be heard again. "They that shed blood will be eliminated while they that draw it face a new opponent, till one of you wins the title of Conqueror of the Day. May fortune rest on you all. Begin!"

The spectators let loose another tumult of cheers. Uncle Miraz and Aunt Prunaprismia took their seats; the contestants saluted and dispersed, most of them to stand along the edges of the arena while eight took their places by the simple structure in the center, which looked like four long hitching posts that met like spokes on a wheel, dividing the arena into quarters. Each pair of competitors shook hands and waited for the trumpet blast. Caspian caught himself holding his breath for that exhilarating moment too. The trumpets sounded and were very nearly drowned out the next moment by the clash of iron and the roar from the stands.

Caspian wasn't sure how many men were set to duel; he only knew that there were more in the arena that he'd ever seen in any other tournament: a number were soldiers, some were nobles, and others were ordinary people prepared to try their luck. All of them wore simple chainmail shirts and helmets, but no other armour. Caspian thought that must make the duels a little more fair: those who were not soldiers or noblemen would hardly have stood a chance otherwise.

One man was struck in the arm. He and his opponent were escorted from their quarter, one to wait for his next match, the other to be tended to in a pavilion outside the arena. One of Uncle Miraz' captains chose two new contestants to take their place in the vacant quarter. They shook hands and the captain signalled them to begin. While all that took place, the other three duels continued uninterrupted until the next match was ended.

Shouts of encouragement resounded from all sides, overlapping with the cries of victory; both overruled the groans of disappointment. Caspian hardly knew what to call out and when. Each of the quarters distracted him from the others and he was always happy for the victors and disappointed for each man that met defeat. He did let out a very different sort of cry – along with half the arena – when one man dealt a dreadful blow to his opponent, sending him to the ground with a heavily bleeding leg. Despite every instinct to hide his eyes from the sight, Caspian stared until the injured man was carried off on a stretcher. The equally horrified victor refused to rejoin the other contestants, choosing instead to follow the stretcher out of the arena.

The tournament continued and the crowd's original energy returned in short order. Soon, there were no more fresh men, only victors; then their numbers began to dwindle. By the time eight remained, Caspian had chosen the ones he particularly hoped would win: one, a thick-shouldered commoner with a bushy brown beard, the other, a young noble Uncle Miraz had identified as Lord Scythley's nephew – not that Caspian could remember who Lord Scythley was.

Both of Caspian's favourites advanced to the next round and each was paired with a soldier. He learned so far forward in his seat to watch that Uncle Miraz barely managed to save him from a tumble. "Watch yourself."

"Sorry, Uncle." Caspian met his uncle's gaze and found, to his surprise, a rare opportunity to share a smile with him. The twinkle in Uncle Miraz' eyes told him that they were equally excited for the final matches.

The trumpets sounded and the contestants leapt into action. Caspian's bearded favourite struck out at his opponent with broad swings and heavy blows, his sturdy legs braced against the force his soldier applied to his shield. The nobleman seemed to avoid most of his opponent's strikes altogether, for he never ceased to move his feet, advancing here, feinting there, leaping back, and doing it all again. Caspian's eyes darted between the two matches, his hands stung from clapping, and his cheers grew hoarse. After a minute or two, his nobleman was disqualified by a nick to his hand, but Caspian's disappointment did not last long, for his remaining favourite won his match.

Caspian ignored his tired arms and numb hands as he joined everyone else in the anticipation of the final duel. The finalists shook hands and exchanged a few words before they stepped back to wait for the signal. The heralds blew out a fanfare that sent Caspian into an exhilarated tremble.

Swords flashed and shields were raised, but all sounds of the battle were drowned out by the shouts that seemed to shake the ground. The soldier was quick, but could not find an opening, for the bearded commoner always met his strokes with his shield. The latter had yet to land a solid blow himself. Around and around they danced until Caspian's favourite darted forward to surprise the soldier. There was a collective cheer at the change, but the soldier parried the strike and forced the commoner back a few steps. They circled each other, watching the other keenly. Caspian clenched his fists, waiting for either one to strike again. Finally, the soldier dove forward, only to glance off the commoner's shield while its wielder stepped forward and pressed his sword to the soldier's collar. The stands rumbled under the feet of the rising spectators, the air rent by their wild cheers. Caspian too leapt to his feet and shouted till he was sure had no voice left to contribute.

The competitors parted, both breathing heavily and dripping sweat, but not without smiles. The soldier clapped a hand to the commoner's shoulder before shaking hands with him again. The victor raised his sword in acknowledgement of the crowd's praise before he approached the royal box to claim his prize. Uncle Miraz raised his hands to signal for quiet. When he finally had it, he asked the champion for his name.

"Bahram of Beruna," Uncle Miraz pronounced in his most ceremonious tone, "you have prevailed over all others to glory as champion of the Feast of Caspian. Well and truly have you earned your reward." He gestured to Aunt Prunaprismia, who stood next to him, the prizes in her hands. Uncle Miraz took the sword and brass circlet from her and she leaned forward to drape the embroidered velvet over Bahram's shoulders. He bowed to thank her while Uncle Miraz continued. "You bear on your shoulders the power of a mighty man. At your side, you carry the strength of a warrior." The sword passed from the king to the commoner, who grasped the weapon with something like reverence.

A sudden thought came to Caspian and he tugged on Uncle Miraz' tunic before he could change his mind. Uncle Miraz turned to him with a definite flash of the eyes that asked how he dared interrupt, but Caspian had not yet convinced himself to abandon his request. He pointed to the circlet and asked, "May I, please?"

Uncle Miraz seemed to consider it for a second before his face broke into a smile. "And finally," he said for all to hear, "you wear on your brow the honour of the Conqueror himself, bestowed upon you by his highness, Prince Caspian!" Uncle Miraz handed the circlet to Caspian and lifted him to stand on the wall that separated them from the champion. Caspian rotated the circlet in his grasp to be sure it would be centered. Bahram bowed his head while Caspian crowned him. When he straightened again, he smiled at Caspian with his eyes as much as he did with his mouth. Caspian would have grinned wider if he could have: his favourite had won the tournament and Uncle Miraz had let him present a prize!

Uncle Miraz motioned to Bahram to face the arena and shouted, "I present Bahram of Beruna, Conqueror of the Day!"

Bahram stepped toward the center of the arena and drew his new sword to the thunderous adulation of the crowd. Caspian clapped and cheered as loud as he could and, though the champion could not have heard him, Bahram winked and bowed to him.

. * .

"War he waged, battles he raged:

our great and fearless warrior;

Nations he razed, Telmar he saved:

hail Caspian Conqueror!"

Nurse recited the final part of the poem, saying it over and over again so it would stick in Caspian's mind. She had firmly prohibited him from talking much after the tournament, making him gargle salt water and swallow spoonfuls of honey throughout the rest of the day. "We want your voice to work when you give your toast tomorrow," was what she said, "and after all that excitement, we need to help it heal." So, here he was, shifting his weight on his feet to the rhythm of the poem and raising his arms so Nurse could pull off his shirt.

"We will practice the whole thing in the morning." Nurse said. "After lunch and right before the banquet too, so you will be ready."

"Yes, Nu–" Caspian clapped his hands over his mouth and nodded.

Nurse smiled sympathetically. "How does it feel?"

Caspian kept his voice quiet, but not at a whisper – Nurse had told him that whispering would make it worse. "Hurts a little." He rubbed a hand up and down his neck.

Nurse helped him into his nightshirt. "Do you want more salt water?"

Caspian nodded and waited for her to prepare the solution. He didn't care for the taste, but the pleasure of hearing the water bubble in his throat like a boiling kettle was worth it. He spit the water back into the cup and passed it back to Nurse. She held his goblet of wine, but pulled it from his reach to say, "Just taste it, don't swallow it. It might sting your throat."

When Caspian nodded again, she placed the goblet in his hands. He let the wine wash into his mouth, but resisted the urge to swallow. The wine swished and sloshed over his tongue, filling his mouth with its curious blend of sour, sweet, and almost spicy tones. He spit it back out, wishing he'd done so a couple seconds sooner. He passed the goblet back to Nurse and busied himself with wiping the taste from his tongue. Nurse opened the window and flung the contents of both vessels into the branches of the tree below. Caspian froze, his tongue still touching the sleeve of his nightshirt. When Nurse had opened the window the previous night, did she throw out some of her wine? But why would she do that? She was always careful to never waste anything.

"Oh, Caspian!" Nurse exclaimed, jerking him back to the present. "Don't do that, that's not very proper." Caspian pulled his arm away from his mouth and realized he'd stained a pink spot on the sleeve's wrist. Nurse took his hand and inspected the damage herself. "Here, I'll give you some water to get rid of the taste, and then we'll put on a new nightshirt."

At last, Caspian sat against his headboard, pillow at his back to cushion him against the wood, washing down a dose of honey with another cup of water.

"Do you want to use the chamberpot before you get comfortable?" Nurse asked.

"No," was Caspian's hoarse reply.

"Alright. All Narnia continued to celebrate the feast. During the day, when they weren't banqueting, the Narnians occupied themselves with fairs and contests – no, not like the tournament we saw today. Creatures could participate in the games that suited them best. The Rabbits, Deer, and Dogs would race across the open plains; Naiads, Beavers, and Marshwiggles swam in the rivers; teams of Dwarves, Fauns, and Dryads played shinty; Centaurs, Bears, and Gryphons would test their strength; Squirrels, Hedgehogs, and Moles would line up along a rope and try to pull the group on the other side into a little stream or pool."

Much as he liked the tournament of Second Day, Caspian thought that the games of the Old Narnians sounded like great fun. If he hadn't been so strictly charged to rest his voice, he would have asked what shinty was and whether Nurse could play it with him in the castle garden.

"On the night of the third day, the Cair was filled again with revellers. Long before King Edmund was to propose his toast, a number of the guests speculated about the things they were to hear. This was exactly what the kings and queens had hoped for: it turned everyone's thoughts to Aslan.

"Toward the end of the meal, King Edmund rose and the whole assembly was ready to listen." Caspian leaned forward himself. "'As many of you know, I was not always as I am now. Mine is the story of a traitor, an enemy to all Narnia, to my family, and to Aslan. It is a story I know that I do not bear alone, for I was one of many who fell to the White Witch's charms. Yet, here I am today, standing before you now, and not by anything I had done. No, I was a prisoner bound to her will, wholly unable to escape her grasp – I did not even have hope of rescue. But Aslan appeared all the same, releasing Narnia from the chains of winter and freeing even a traitor like me. More than that: He paid a price that should not have been His to pay.'" Remembering the awful things that befell Aslan sent a shudder through Caspian. "'His life was the cost of every freedom we enjoy, and He gave it willingly. I owe Him an unimaginable debt for that. We all do. To the Great Deliverer!'"

Sore throat or not, Caspian couldn't resist raising his cup and crying, "To the Deliverer!" Then he threw back his head and gulped down the water. The result was less spectacular than he'd hoped, for there was more water in the cup than would fit in his mouth, so some splashed up his nose and down his cheeks. He spluttered and coughed while Nurse exclaimed and chuckled her own surprise.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Caspian coughed twice more and nodded while he wiped the water from his face with his sleeve. "Good. Lie down and go to sleep. Let's get that voice rested."

He scooted forward so she could fluff the pillow and lay it down for his head. He rubbed at his nose to remove the final sensations of his watery mishap. Reminded of the toast that had caused it, he decided to use his voice again. "Nurse?"

"Mm?"

"Are you e'cited for Third Day?"

Perhaps it was just a trick of the lamplight, but he thought something flickered in Nurse's eyes as she studied him. "Yes. I look forward to the last day of the feast." A teasing smile overtook her face and she added, "Because after that, we can have normal bedtimes." Caspian twitched and giggled as she tickled him under the chin. "Good night, your highness."

"'Night, Nurse."

Nurse had hardly left the room when Caspian suddenly felt the effect of all the water he'd drunk. He slipped out from under the covers and ran on tiptoes to the chamberpot behind the partition. He cocked an ear, but Nurse didn't seem to have noticed that he'd left his bed. When he'd finished, he tiptoed not to the bed, but to the door. Hardly daring to do so for fear he would be seen, Caspian peered out into the antechamber.

Nurse already had wine poured and partway to her mouth. "We would not still be here if not for You," she whispered to silence. "Our own efforts have only brought us low, but even now, You have chosen to preserve us. May I ever be grateful. To the Great Deliverer." She tilted the goblet to her lips and then set it back down. Caspian ducked back behind the door before he remembered that she would see the empty bed anyway if she looked in his direction. She didn't – or if she did, she thought nothing of it –, for Caspian heard nothing more that the final gathering up of things, a rustle of skirts, and the gentle bump of the closing door.

He tiptoed back to the bed and scrambled back in. He stared at the lamp's flame as if he could speak to it like a friend, though it didn't answer back. He was sure Nurse didn't drink to any of the toasts at the banquet, so why did she drink to the ones from the story? Was she not allowed to have wine? Surely that wasn't it: even the servants got to toast. Perhaps there was something about the story that meant that she would have to participate in the long-gone celebrations. Maybe that was why she whispered to herself too. But if she drank to old toasts because the story was so important, why would she not do the same to all the stories about Caspian I? Even the toast Caspian himself was to give told a little of the story: days of victory, a lasting legacy, Caspian the Conqueror. A man honoured by all for his valiant deeds, the pride of his people years and years later. Funny. Aslan was like that too, from what the ancient kings and queens said of Him, what they wanted their feast to be about. And yet, while the Telmarines gave grand, dynamic tributes to their hero, there was Nurse offering her quiet, humble salutations. So much was the same, but it was all so very different at the same time.

Even as these thoughts swirled in his mind like a fog, the gentle waving of the lamp's flame lulled him to sleep.

* * *

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	4. Hail the Conqueror

Everything about Third Day surpassed the rest of the Feast of Caspian: all of the best had been saved for last. There was the huge, roasted boar lying peacefully on a bed of leafy greens and bright vegetables. On either side of the boar were large birds – probably turkeys – decorated with huge fans of peacock feathers. Tiered trays overflowing with breads, cheeses, and grapes seemed to tower over everything, even though the taller men could still reach from the topmost platters with ease. And that was just _some_ of the food.

The Great Hall was teeming with people of wealth and beauty. The ladies had decked themselves with silks or velvets and every manner of ornamentation imaginable; Aunt Prunaprismia outshone them all with her jewelled bodice and headdress. The men sported meticulously groomed locks and heavy chains of gold or silver; compared to some others, Uncle Miraz' gold-and-sapphire overcoat and belt buckle appeared simpler, though all the more elegant for it. What children were present were dressed like smaller, somewhat understated versions of their parents; with his jaunty, short red cape, Caspian would have fit right in among them but for the princely crown he'd only worn once or twice before.

A wide space had been left clear in front of the high table for the night's entertainment. The minstrels stood around the room to sing ballads both old and new. They also provided the music for the dancers, whose movements, whether rapid or graceful, were fascinating. Though the acrobats had equipment set up in the designated area, they did not confine themselves to the space, choosing instead to leap, flip, and fling each other over and among the tables half the time – one even landed on the high table, much to Caspian's delight. Jesters and masters of illusion wove their way through the hall, amusing the guests with anecdotes and amazing them with tricks.

For the first time, Uncle Miraz allowed Caspian to have some wine with his meal. "It will taste better when it's time for you toast," he explained to Caspian, while to his protesting wife he argued, "This is a day of celebration! Only a little wine – no, it's _not_ enough to do him any harm. It's just for tonight and anyway, he is prince of Narnia: it's time he learn to drink it." Caspian saw something hard in Aunt Prunaprismia's eyes when she glanced at him, but to Uncle Miraz she simply nodded and offered a smile.

Caspian was more concerned about pleasing his uncle than his aunt, and not just he didn't much care what Aunt Prunaprismia thought or because Uncle Miraz was king. He was still mindful of Nurse's care of his still-slightly-husky voice. Earlier, in his room in the hours before the banquet, she had given him more wine that he was instructed to spit out again. Really, Aunt Prunaprismia need not worry about his drinking too much, if only for that reason. After a minute of catching Uncle Miraz' glances, though, Caspian appeased him by taking a sip in the few seconds he had before his attention was consumed by the twirling banners and ribboned tambourines of the dancers.

By the time Caspian had satisfied his appetite, a strange and unpleasant feeling settled in his stomach and he found himself both wishing for and dreading the moment he would have to make his toast. He nibbled on the remaining bits of food on his plate and even sipped more wine in an attempt to distract himself, but any progress he made on that front was cancelled out when he noticed the servants filling goblets all around the hall. Even as his eyes darted to meet Nurse's, he felt a twinge of shame for searching for her reassurance. He was a prince and it was his duty to be strong and brave, even if he didn't feel it. That's what Uncle Miraz had told him many times before. Nurse too, through the stories she told – weren't High King Peter, Prince Cor, and King Gale all examples of exactly that? All the same, her gentle nod halted the advance of that awful feeling in his belly until Uncle Miraz leaned toward him.

"After this song," he said, "stand up and make your toast. Remember to speak loud enough for everyone to hear."

Caspian nodded. He ran through the rhyme to himself, gaining some small relief when he found that he remembered it just fine.

"Are you ready?" Uncle Miraz asked, his tone gentler than Caspian expected. "The first toast is always daunting, but it will become easier the more you do it. Just stand up straight and hold your head high, and you'll do well."

Caspian swallowed hard and answered, "Yes, Uncle." A servant refilled his goblet and the minstrels played their last refrain. Something about the greatest king in history and a never-ending memorial of his majesty – Caspian was too nervous to really pay attention. There was a round of applause for the minstrels, during which Uncle Miraz prompted Caspian to stand.

Under any other circumstance, Caspian would not have been permitted to stand on his chair – he even hesitated to do it now –, but it was the only way to ensure that everyone would see him. Once sure of his footing on the plush cushion, he leaned down again to retrieve his goblet. The applause died down and Caspian realized that most everyone had turned their eyes on him, waiting with their hands on their own goblets.

All the advice he'd heard from Uncle Miraz, Nurse, and Master Poet echoed in his mind. Breathe. Be calm and confident. Project. Be royal and festive. Let the words flow.

He rocked a little on his heels and held forth his goblet.

"Attend ye, men of Telmar,  
on this our day of victory;  
hear ye, old and young,  
forget not our proud history.  
Three hundred years,  
we stand tall and strong;  
Three hundred years,  
his legacy lives on.  
War he waged, battles he raged:  
our great and fearless warrior;  
Nations he razed, Telmar he saved:  
hail Caspian Conqueror!"

"Hail Caspian Conqueror!" The reply sent a thrill through Caspian and any remaining sense of nerves fled before the face of the pride that replaced it. He raised his wine a little higher before bringing it to his lips. Maybe it was the exhilaration of the moment, but the wine tasted nicer than it ever had: the sweet tones pleased his palette, the sour notes added to the excitement, and the hints of spice invigorated him. He drained the goblet of wine and returned his gaze to the crowd. Scattered applause started up somewhere, but it quickly spread, especially once Uncle Miraz joined in. Caspian felt his ears grow a little hot, but he grinned and decided he might as well bask in it. Maybe he could get used to toasting after all.

. * .

It was nearly midnight by the time Caspian and Nurse left the feast.

"The acr'bats were my favourite!" Caspian announced with all the energy that little boys ought not have at that time of night. "I didn't think anyone could jump so high! I thought they would fall before they could make it through the hoops, but they didn't! How did they know it was safe to land on the tables?" Then he giggled. "Aunt Prun'ismia screamed when he did that! She said she didn't, but I heard her, even if it was a little scream."

Nurse opened the door to his chambers and Caspian entered, still chattering a mile a minute. "And then they would climb on each other and – I wonder how they can hang on like that. Do you know? I wish we had acrobats here more, so I could watch them all the time, like Adara and Jalo do!"

Nurse set him upon the bed. "Who are Adara and Jalo?"

"Adara's the one that danced with me." Caspian wasn't about to admit that the older girl had taught him, even though Nurse knew full well that he had not yet received any lessons in the art of dancing. "Jalo's her cousin; she lives with him. He's the son of a lord – I don't remember which one, but he's from far away. Jalo likes to play the games I do; Adara doesn't, but she said she liked my toast."

"You did very well with your toast," Nurse affirmed after she had pulled off his shoes and stockings.

Caspian scrambled to his feet and bounced on his toes. "Did I do it like the kings and queens?"

"I would think so," she said while she untucked his shirt. "You were regal and did everything Master Poet and I taught you."

Caspian was too happy to say anything in reply. Everyone had applauded his toast, Uncle Miraz had looked pleased, and Nurse had just said that he was as good as the Old Narnian kings and queens! He let his eyes wander and that was when he saw the flagon of wine in the antechamber, apparently not taken away after his afternoon taste-test. All bouncing stopped.

"Nurse?" Her reply was veiled by the rustling of the tunic as it was pulled up and over his head. "Can I toast with you tonight?"

The shirt hung still in Nurse's grasp, as still as she was. She did not answer, but her eyes darted between Caspian's own eyes, reading, studying him. In that time, though, Caspian did not find any evidence of shock like he expected. Perhaps a touch of surprise, but nothing more. At last, Nurse smiled and folded the shirt. "I suppose you can. It'll be our little secret."

"Hurrah!" he shouted.

"Hush! It's late."

"But everybody is still dancing."

"All the same, you won't be able to sleep if you carry on like that. Into your nightshirt."

Caspian quieted, but the continuous flow of energy in his veins prevented him from keeping still. Even sitting cross-legged against his pillow and headboard, he rocked in place and absently scratched at his elbow.

Nurse brought the wine tray from the antechamber and sat on the edge of the bed. She began her story with her eyes were fixed on Caspian and her voice low. "The final night of the feast arrived and spirits were as high as they had ever been. All of the stories Mr Tumnus had told Queen Lucy about the feasts and celebrations before the White Witch's reign had come true again in these four days, perhaps even moreso, now that Narnia had a new appreciation for its freedom."

Nurse poured a little wine into the goblet, which she passed to Caspian. "The time had come for High Peter's toast. He stood by his throne and was joined by the other three there." She poured herself some wine as well. "'Narnians, we all stand here in this moment that will one day be history. It was the desire of my royal brother and sisters and myself that these days will ever be preserved for future generations. Today, we establish the Feast of Aslan to be kept four days every year, beginning on the fourteenth day of the month of Cloverlea, as a time of memorial and thanksgiving to Aslan.'

"Then High King Peter raised his goblet. 'One year ago, Aslan returned to Narnia to re-establish it as a nation united under Him. He returned us to life with spring and defeated the Witch's winter. He led our army to victory when we could not have made it on our own. And He appeased the Deep Magic of His Father, the Emperor-over-the-Sea, rising in triumph over Death itself. No other could ever have done what He accomplished. We pledge our allegiance to Aslan. Hail, King over all high kings!'"

"Hail, King over all high kings!" Caspian exulted. He reached up to touch his goblet to Nurse's cup, then, together, they quaffed their wine. He hadn't thought it possible, but it tasted even sweeter and sharper than what he'd drunk at the banquet – and he didn't even want to wash it down with water.

Of greater interest, though, was the look on Nurse's face. Her smile declared happiness and her eyes were laden with gentleness, though the tears and the slight bend to her eyebrows seemed to suggest a sort of sadness. Underneath it, there was something else. Caspian wasn't sure what it looked like. It could have been pride, or perhaps it was hope, or maybe…. Caspian tried to think of his mother. Though he had no distinct memory of her, he thought he could remember something of her face, something that looked like that _something_ in Nurse. Could it be love?

Nurse took his goblet from his grasp and laid a gentle hand on his. She drew a breath to speak, but nothing came of it. Though silence reigned, Caspian felt happy, just sitting there together in the aftermath of High King Peter's toast.

Finally, Nurse shook it off. "It's time you were in bed, your highness." She gave his pillow a plumping and he lay down upon it, bringing the covers up to his chin. "Good night, Caspian."

"Good night, Nurse."

She smiled again and tenderly brushed at the hair on his forehead, then she left him to the glow of the lamp, taking the wine tray with her and closing the door halfway. She did not linger in the antechamber; she left after a brief pause outside his bedroom door.

Though the lateness of the hour beckoned Caspian to sleep, he lay awake a while longer, thinking. He wished he could have been there himself, toasting with the ancient kings and queens, toasting Aslan in the Old Narnian castle. Maybe one day, when he grew older, he and Nurse could find Cair Paravel and observe the Feast in that place, close to the Eastern Ocean, closer to Aslan Himself. In the meantime, he was determined to remember it like High King Peter had said to. He would make it part of his history and carry the legacy with pride. Every year, he would salute Aslan.

To the Highest Lord of Narnia.

To the Liberator.

To the Great Deliverer.

To the King over all high kings.

To the Conqueror.

Hail, Aslan.

* * *

 **Author's note** : I had promised to make an explanation in my opening author's note. Two years ago, I had posted an Easter story titled "Here to Remember" (still available on my page). An honest and completely valid point was made by marmota-b about the extreme individuality of the event as portrayed in my story; that (along with my convictions on the matter) got me thinking about an alternative way to approach the subject, namely to make it universal for all of Narnia. So here we are. Though I did not utilize again the imagery of communion here, the four toasts of the Feast of Aslan take their inspiration from the four cups of Passover, the feast that foreshadowed the Lord's Supper.

Happy Easter, all!

 _Please review!_


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